


Moon River

by Shadowolf19



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Noir, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, M/M, Marvel Universe, POV Tony Stark, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-22 09:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowolf19/pseuds/Shadowolf19
Summary: The high-pitched voice of a woman brings him back to the present, and to his plan for the night, which is to dance until his feet hurt and maybe snatch a kiss (or two) on the dance floor. But in order to achieve this, he needs to forget about his work and the war raging outside, at least for a few hours. He can do that, right? He damn hopes so.





	Moon River

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sadisticsparkle (sadisticsparkle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadisticsparkle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [To mark the occasion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657729) by [Sadisticsparkle (sadisticsparkle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadisticsparkle/pseuds/Sadisticsparkle). 



> Written for the 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Exchange challenge.

Even before he enters the dance hall, Tony instinctively _knows_ this night is going to live up to its potential: he can feel it in his bones and maybe even smell it in the air. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking from his part, the desire to escape what has now become a dull normality for his days, in and out of that badly lit room, back hunched over papers and maps for hours on end, progress too slow for his liking. And so, when he caught the voice of someone mentioning there was a new music hall in the neighborhood, just across their office, his ears latched onto that new bit of information and held tight to it till the end of the day when, having bid goodnight to the rest of the company, he took the turn for the exit instead of the stairs, and promptly made his way to the subway, where he got on the first train towards downtown.

Here he is now, wearing the same clothes that have been on him for the last sixteen hours, although judging by the way they fall on him – so perfectly fitting, with very few visible wrinkles – you would never guess that. His hair, slightly long and slightly messy, gives him that extra detail on a look that speaks only about half of his personality – the super smart one – leaving the part about him being a very successful Latin lover out of the picture, because that is a luxury that belongs back to a world where the brutality and craziness of Nazism didn’t exist. In the frantic days that followed the beginning of the conflict in Europe, while everyone else was eagerly trying to ignore it, he had immediately started observing it as attentively as possible, knowing all too well that it would only be a matter of time until it expanded to the rest of the world. So when Pearl Harbor happened, Tony was ready with a strategy (and equipment) for when the US would join in. Which, of course, they did in a matter of time.

“Check your coat, sir?”

The high-pitched voice of a woman brings him back to the present, and to his plan for the night, which is to dance until his feet hurt and maybe snatch a kiss (or two) on the dance floor. But in order to achieve this, he needs to forget about his work and the war raging outside, at least for a few hours. He can do that, right? He damn _hopes_ so.

“Yeah, sure thing…” he replies with a slight delay that the hostess doesn’t seem to notice – or mind – and he promptly takes his coat off to pass it over to her, pocketing the pink ticket he gets in return (which, unsurprisingly, also comes with a second, thinner, white paper with a phone number on). He sighs softly to himself, suddenly craving affection from another human being, the close embrace of a warm hug, arms engulfing his body, holding it tight, a small but necessary comfort to remind him that the fight, the long hours, the almost complete isolation, it’s all worth it, in the end, if what you get in return is a free world.

As he pushes the main door open to enter the hall, the soft and jazzy music steals his attention, and he reminds himself that this is supposed to be his night off, so enough with sad thoughts, enough with the philosophical, internal debate that was about to start into his head: it’s time for his eyes to get to work, to find a dancing partner and move swiftly with them through the evening. He smiles as some sort of self-encouragement – not that he needs it, his looks do that part for him – because even though he’s what you would call a pro, he has been off the game for more than a year now, and he feels rusty, his mind having been so focused on serious matters ever since then that he’s afraid his movements will be stiff, his words will sound rehearsed, ever it they are not. The room is full with cigarette smoke, laughter and chatter, noises he hasn’t heard in a while and that almost stagger him as he puts a foot before the other, not exactly sure of what to do now that he’s in the midst of it all. He never had to actually _think_ about this, it came _natural_ , so now he feels like he has to learn the rules of social interaction all over again – which, if not terrifying, is certainly a bit scary, especially when everybody around you seems to be impossibly confident and knowing exactly what to do, _how_ to do it. _I need a drink_ , he thinks, his eyes already surveying the room to spot the long counter, and it’s right in this moment that they land on another person who, just like him, looks a little out of place, indecisive whether remaining and taking the chance – of a dance, an encounter, a kiss – or going and calling it a night. The guy is quite scrawny and skinny, it doesn’t feel like he _belongs_ here, but still Tony can tell this is not the first time he has come to this place, which makes him think that maybe it’s just appearances, the guy might just be the best dancer in the room just waiting for a good enough suitor to claim as his companion for the evening. He smirks gently at this thought, and – never the person to back down from a challenge, even a self-imposed one – he decides to go and say hi, introduce himself, finding out whether or not he was correct in his assumptions.

“I know you were looking at me…” he starts, trying to catch the other’s eyes, now deeply focused on the floor. But something about his tone must catch the guy’s attention because, surely enough, the rich azure irises land on his own, prompting a smile on his lips.

“Well, I didn’t know it was _illegal,_ ” comes the reply, quick and sharp, that seems to surprise the guy himself, his glance moving to a not better specified point behind Tony’s body.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to sound harsh – if anything, I was glad to find someone as _lost_ as I seem to be… First time here?”

“Second. You?”

“First. You’d know if it was otherwise.”

A shy smile appears on the stranger’s lips now, and perhaps for lack of an appropriate response, he stretches his hand forward to introduce himself: “I’m Grant.”

“Edward,” he replies instantly as he shakes his hand, even though he had had no idea he was going to give his middle name. But he has no doubt the other hasn’t been honest in his statement either, it’d be stupid _and_ foolish was that the case, because war or no war, there are rules and laws and bridges that cannot be crossed, no matter what. He doesn’t know this guy, but he can tell by his eyes he’s a smart one, despite his frail physical appearance. Or maybe _because_ of it.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says, leaning against the wall next to him as the band starts playing the mellow notes of Moon River, one of the most played songs on the radio in the last few weeks, so much so that Tony’s mind has effortlessly memorized its words, and now he hums them along softly, more to himself than to anyone else’s benefit.

“You like this song, uh?”

“Oh, I’m quick at memorizing stuff, that’s all. Call it my… special ability, if you wish.

“Well, you should go find someone to dance it with then,” Grant suggests, and although it isn’t an offer, there’s something about the way his eyes naturally find Tony’s that sends shivers down his spine and keeps him from speaking, afraid that he might indeed say what he’s thinking out loud. _Would you like to dance with me, Grant?_

So he stays silent, and just lightly brushes his pinky finger against the other’s hand, his glance fixed on the swaying couples on the floor, a tight knot in his throat because he can’t believe what he has just done. But before he can get overcome by second thoughts, the gesture is returned, his heartbeat picks up pace, and a joyful smile quickly occupies the width of his face.

 

When he opens his eyes, the morning after, a streak of light illuminates the small room and the bed whose sheets he seems to have stolen all for himself during the night. He blinks some of the sleepiness away and smiles lazily, hand roaming to find the other’s body, and when it’s not found, he starts pulling himself to a sitting position, frowning slightly, but before he can call his name out, a voice echoes in the room, reassuring him of his presence: “I’m here, don’t worry…”

“What are you…” he yawns out as he turns in the opposite direction, his eyes finally finding Grant, sitting on a chair with what looks like a notebook in his hands. The other shoots him a quick glance, smiling a bit shyly – why, Tony doesn’t know, nor he can guess – and gives a reply before the question is complete.

”Drawing. It’s a hobby of mine. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” Tony yawns again, and it’s clear his brain is not fully awake yet because if it was, he would be already up and hurrying to get dressed and go, because he doesn’t get days off, and judging by the light outside there’s a good chance he’s already late. But he still doesn’t know it.

“Because I’m sketching _you_ , and I didn’t ask your permission…”

“Right…” is all he says, his senses slowly awakening, and it goes without saying that the moment they do, a surge of panic invades him in less than a couple of seconds, prompting him to kick the covers away to stand on his feet, much to Grant’s confusion.

“Woah, what is—“

“What time is it?” he asks, hands frantically tightening the belt around his waist before starting to work on the buttons of his shirt whilst his feet try to slip into his shoes without any help.

“It’s… ten to eight, why? What’s wrong?”

“Damn, I need to go, I’m late…”

“Late for what? It’s Sunday.”

“Yeah, well, my job, it doesn’t come with days off, not at the moment I’m afraid,” he explains, a hand attempting to comb his hair while he looks for a piece of paper and something to write with. Once he finds both, he quickly scribbles his name and number on it and stretches it over to Grant, who is still looking at the whole scene with puzzled eyes. “Here. I wish I didn’t have to leave like this, but…”

“So your real name is ‘Tony’, uh? Suits you better, if you ask me,” the other replies, smiling a bit as he puts the paper away into his pocket before moving towards the desk near the window, bending over it to – Tony hopes – write his own number down for him.

“Yeah, well, that’s why I chose to go with it. Edward is my middle name. And what about you, Mr. … ‘Grant’?”

“I’m Steve. Grant is my middle name too, if you can believe it,” comes the answer, and with it a small, rectangular paper is handed to him, but it’s not made of the usual material, it’s slightly _crispy_ under his fingers. Tony looks down at it and he’s stunned as seeing the other’s face drawn on the surface, along with a phone number. He meets the azure eyes, asking a silent question that Steve nevertheless gets. “I did it before starting to sketch you. I figured just in case you… you know, wanted to remember me or whatever, since we don’t know what is going to happen with… well, _everything_ , I guess…” he says, blushing slightly and diverting his glance on the floor, studying it intently.

Tony is not exactly a romantic, and especially in times like the present he believes feelings are definitely _unrequited_ , but as he holds Steve’s self-portrait in his hands, he can’t deny that his heart is strongly disagreeing right now, because this guy is surely something else.

“Of course I want to remember you,” he eventually replies, and his voice trembles slightly as he says it, a small victory for the organ sitting in his chest, which now seems to be beating a bit faster than normal. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Okay…” Steve nods, redness still spreading on his cheeks as Tony leans in for a goodbye kiss before disappearing out of the door.

 

***

 

But that never happens, because when Tony gets to work, he is informed that he’s been assigned to a top secret project, one that involves his immediate relocation to an undisclosed town all the way in New Mexico, and before he can protest or object, he finds himself being boarded onto a Greyhound bus without even having the chance to stop by his room, the words ‘duty’ and ‘country’ repeated over and over into his ears. Of course, once he arrives at the new site he tries more than once to call the number Steve gave him, but the line incessantly gives out a flat tune, convincing Tony that maybe the other gave him the wrong digits _on purpose_. It’s only a couple of days later, during lunch time, that he learns in a conversation their lines have been wired to receive and make only what the military denotes as “approved calls”. Which definitely don’t comprehend homosexual one night stands.

 

***

 

Nose almost touching the paper he’s scribbling on, Tony is so deep into his thoughts and calculations that even if the radio is on, he doesn’t really hear the music coming from it, the sound less than a background detail in his mind. It’s December 1944, and the last couple of years have given him a few strands of grey into his hair and some wrinkles across his forehead, but overall Tony hasn’t changed at all despite the harshness he’s experienced since the military has taken over his life.

“I knew a fella once who seemed to really _love_ this song…”

The voice that suddenly resonates in the room – following the echo of the door being shut with a bit too eagerness – sounds kind of familiar, but there’s a depth and strength to it which are completely new, so much Tony believes his first impression was wrong, he doesn’t actually know it _at all_.

“You and I both,” he replies without lifting his eyes from the paper, finally recognizing Moon River, “How can I help y—“

But before he can finish his question, his throat runs dry the moment he raises his glance to finally see who the man might be. Tony is almost never out of words, but right now, he can’t think of a _single one_ to comment on the sight right in front of him, and not just because almost three years have gone by since he last saw this face. It’s Steve, except not really. _Everything_ about him is different – _bigger_ – and the only word that his mind can conjure is, how?

“I know, I know. I’m a bit… changed. Hope it’s not a deal-breaker.”

“Ho-How—?”

“Does it matter?”

It _doesn’t_ , of course – nothing would. Tony stands up now, still flabbergasted by what’s happening, and before he can say it out loud Steve is right in front of him, taking his hand and lead him in a slow motion dance as the piano notes fill the air. This feels so much like a dream and Tony decides to keep the questions for later, allowing himself to be swayed gently along the melody, closing his eyes as he fully breathes in the scent of the other, surprised to notice just how _well_ he remembers it. Soon enough he gets overwhelmed by his presence though, and before his brain can rationalize the whole situation he finds himself ceasing the dance, pushing Steve gently against the wall and pressing his own body against his, lips finding each other as if they had shared many intimate moments before, and the kiss that follows is passionate and deep, failing to hide the sense of eagerness and longing they both feel. There aren’t any moments wasted this time – that’s a luxury you can’t afford yourself when there’s a global war raging just outside your building – and before more words can be exchanged Tony’s hands slip inside Steve’s boxers to find their way to him, stroking him gently and slowly as his mouth sucks on the broadened neck, leaving marks of promises and oaths as their respective moans echo quietly in the air, allowing them both to forget the ugliness that rambles on just a few feet away.

 

”Is this how it’s always going to be?” he asks, voice bearing all the drowsiness of the sleep he has just woken up from. He doesn’t even need to open his eyes to feel Steve’s glance on his naked body, which prompts a sly smile on his lips.

“Uh? What do you mean?” comes the reply, telling him that the other has been up for a while instead, maybe an hour or so.

“You’re looking at me, aren’t you?”

“How—?“

“I might not be a soldier – a _Captain_ – but I have a few tricks up on my sleeve too,” he explains, finally opening his eyes and smiling widely as finding Steve just mere inches away, sitting on a chair with his feet up on the bed – so close to his butt that he could wriggle it with his toes if he wanted to, and oh, how Tony wishes he _would_ – a pen in his hand and a sketchbook lying on his thighs. “Can I move?”

“What do y— Oh, yes, of course, sorry, I’m not—“

“Well, now I’m _offended_ ,” he teases, rolling on his side and closer to Steve, grabbing the sheet along to cover his body, because now that he’s fully awake the December coldness is making him aware of its presence. “Thought you liked my bum.”

Steve blushes strongly now, and hurries to divert his gaze somewhere else, evading the implied question as he puts the last touches down on the paper: “I didn’t say you’re not in the picture though. Look…” he offers, turning the sketch to show him: it’s them dancing together in a room full of people, and although it’s been nearly three years, he recognizes immediately the dancehall around them as the one they first met at. Again Tony finds himself short of words – seems to becoming yet another habit when Steve is around – his brain incapable of formulating a single thought. So he sits down, back against the wooden headboard, and pats the spot right next to him to invite Steve to sit there, which he does.

“This… This is beautiful,” he eventually manages, lifting his glance from the sketch to meet those azure eyes that have been impressed in his memory ever since he first saw them.

“Thank you. I figured… we need a reminder there’s beauty in this world, especially in times like these, you know?”

Yes, Tony knows, and wants to say that it is impossible to forget that when he has a perfect example of it right in front of his own eyes in this moment, but decides to keep it from himself for fear of sounding shallower than he intends to. Steve is handsome, of course, but that’s not what he’s thinking about. His _soul_ , that’s what he has in mind.

“Do you think… this could ever happen? Us dancing together in a room full of people, nobody caring it is two men?” he says eventually, surprising even himself although he has often wondered about it.

Maybe even more surprising is that Steve seems to have an answer straightaway, revealing that he himself has had the same thought at times: “I _have to_ believe it will, possibly sooner rather than later, otherwise… well, what are we fighting for? Freedom comes in all sorts of forms and shapes, it _cannot_ be just about black and white issues like… free will and self-determination. It needs to be about _everything_ , including two guys dancing in a music hall without getting called names and beaten up just for being themselves. I enlisted and went through with the Project because I believe in Freedom with the capital F, not because someone _asked me to_. So yes, this _will_ happen. I’m _sure_ of it.”

Tony doesn’t think he’s ever heard the other say so many words all at once, and judging by the slight, sudden shyness flashing across Steve’s face now, the soldier himself can’t believe how much he just talked. Tony smiles softly at that, and, setting the sketch aside, he takes one of the other’s hands into his to kiss its back before leaning over to whisper into his ear: “Well, when that _does_ , I hope to be the fella you’ll be dancing your first dance with.”

“Is that a promise?” Steve asks, his voice a hopeful sigh as he locks his eyes onto his.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“I do.”

And Tony seals the vow with a deep kiss, his body moving independently as he climbs on Steve’s lap, gently pushing him down on the mattress again even if he really shouldn’t, because they both have places to be, battles to fight. But he doesn’t stop, neither does Steve, and before long their moans fill the room once more as they lose themselves into each other yet again.

All of the ugliness and brutality outside can wait a couple of hours more.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time taking part into a Remix Event and I was so inspired by the original fic, especially because of its setting and the themes that deals with. When I read it, the notes of [Moon River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJgGs9WpGt0) sang by Frank Sinatra instantly began playing into my head, and I haven't been able to get them out of it ever since, so I decided to keep it as the song they dance to even though it's anachronistic (the song was written in 1960 for the film "Breakfast At Tiffany" and released the following year when the movie premiered - you can read more about it [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moon_River).)
> 
> Because I love History - and especially this time period - it was very easy for me to imagine that, was Tony to be alive back then, he would have been _convinced_ to collaborate on the Manhattan Project, which was relocated in New Mexico between Autumn 1942 and Spring 1943 (you can read about it [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattan_Project) or, if you like TV series, I cannot recommend _[Manhattan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattan_\(TV_series\))_ enough).
> 
> For the setting of the final scene, I imagined Tony being in the London Allies headquarters to discuss some aspects of the Manhattan Project with the British and just by chance Steve is around the building as well, just before leaving to go on a new mission.


End file.
